My brother hesitated.
“That’s not what Mom told me.”
I stood up.
“What did she tell you?”
He said our parents had changed the plan days earlier.
They were no longer taking the children on the flight.
They had decided they wanted to travel alone.
My brother had agreed to meet them near the airport and pick up his sons before their shuttle arrived.
He assumed I had been given the same instructions about Abigail.
I had not.
There had been no message.
No call.
No request that I meet them anywhere.
My mother had never told me the trip had changed.
Instead, she had called at 11:37 a.m. and calmly informed me that my eight-year-old daughter had gotten sick, so they had put her out beside a road.
I asked my brother when he learned about the new plan.
“Two nights ago.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
